Run And Don't Look Back
by The-Ochraniacz
Summary: With one of their own on the run, the race is on to find this latest UnSub before the BAU is irreparably ripped apart. Entry for the-vampire-act's season five contest


**Name: **Run And Don't Look Back**  
****Summary: **With one of their own on the run, the race is on to find this latest UnSub before the BAU is irreparably ripped apart**  
****A/N: **This is my entry in the-vampire-act's contest. I haven't seen episode _Risky Business _(Channel Seven skipped it for some reason, I think. I'm pretty sure it wasn't on here) and episode _Public Enemy _onwards so sorry if I make any mistakes regarding content in the show. I **might** write another chapter to this after the contest ends. Slight spoilers for "The Fisher King," part one and two and "Profiler, Profiled," Didn't have any time to edit it, so sorry for any mistakes.

_"There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them,"_ ~Andre Gide  
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His cheek stung as another leave whipped him in the face, joining the cuts covering his legs and arms as he ran through the bush. His breathes came short and deep, his chest heaving as he glanced over his shoulder once more. He couldn't see much in the darkness, but it was still comforting to know he wasn't being followed. He still didn't allow himself to relax, knowing he better get as much space between himself and them as possible.

He realised too late his focus should've been directed at the path ahead of him. He gasped in shock as his right brown lace-up boot landed awkwardly on a medium sized, sharp rock he hadn't noticed. He heard a distinct _crack, _and felt a sharp pain shot up his only sore leg as his foot rolled sideways and he fell forward. He stretched his hands out in front of him hoping to stop his fall, realising within seconds how stupid that indeed was. Another sharp pain shot through his wrists as he fell, and he gasped once more as he realised how close he was to the edge of the path, and how it dropped off to a two-metre steep hill, before he somersaulted forward, sliding in a cloud of dust down the cliff.  
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"I'm sorry," Strauss said stiffly. "But a warrant has been issued for his arrest. As of now, Dr. Spencer Reid's position at the FBI has been terminated."

Hotch felt himself stop breathing for a second. He stood in his usual position, arms crossed and his legs slightly parted, but he was sure his usually stoic face was betraying him, his emotions written clearly on his face. The shock, guilt, anger. Shock that his subordinate could be accused of something so horrible, guilt he hadn't been there when they'd do after him, anger at Strauss's accusation. His eyes flicked toward Morgan for a second whose face betrayed all of his emotions.

"No," Morgan said immediately, pulling his arms tighten against his chest. "There must be a mistake. There's no way Reid would do this."

"I'm sorry," Strauss repeated. "But all the evidence points to Dr. Reid. The BAU have officially been taken off the case."  
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"What can I do for you, boss man?" Garcia asked, oblivious to the team's tense mood as she walked into the conference room. "What is it?" She stopped in her tracks, her laptop tucked under her arm as she looked at each of the team's members. Her eyes lingered on the empty seat besides Morgan. "Where's Reid?"

"Garcia, we need you to trace his phone." Hotch said, not meeting her eyes. Garcia walked forward, placing her laptop on the desk and opening it.

"What's happened to him?" She asked, waiting for her laptop to boot. "He hasn't been kidnapped has he?" Morgan exchanged glances with Hotch before turning his attention back to Garcia.

"A warrant has been issued for Reid's arrest. We need you to trace his phone," Morgan replied. "We need to find him before they do."

"Garcia," Hotch said, snapping Garcia out of her daze. "You need to trace his phone, _now._" Garcia nodded, pulling a chair over and sitting in front of her laptop, her fingers already flying over the keys.

"What do we know so far?" Rossi asked, turning his office chair to face the whiteboard behind Morgan.  
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Reid gasped as waves of pain shot up his right side, stemming from his ankle. He grimaced as he sat up, holding his left hand to his chest and using his right hand on the ground as leverage. He leant forward, gritting his teeth in pain as he examined his right ankle. His ankle was swollen and red, and when he gently prodded it, another short burst of pain shot up his leg.

He knew the steps to treat a fracture, but he also knew it wouldn't be extremely practical out here, alone. It would've been a smart idea to grab his jacket off the kitchen island on his way out but in the rush he hadn't had time, and now all he had to fare from the cold was his long shelved cream shirt, having to remove his checked vest so as to use it to pad his makeshift splint.

He glanced around the area, hoping for a nearby branch that would use minimal effort to reach. Less than a metre away he spotted a reasonably sized branch, and he stretched and closed his fingers around it, hissing in pain. He used a nearby rock- just smaller than his fist- to roughly rip his vest in half horizontally. He focused on the bottom half of his vest once he successfully cut it into two, cutting it into strips.

He fashioned himself a splint, using the top half of his vest as padding, grimacing as he wrapped it around his ankle, holding the branch in place as he used the strips of his vest to hold the branch in place. He gritted his teeth as pain shot through his left wrist as he finished the makeshift splint. With the second last strip of his vest he wrapped it tightly around his left wrist, rather numbing the pain, shoving the other strip into his pants pocket.

He struggled to his feet, careful not to put pressure on his right foot, and glanced around. He was in an area of bush similar to the one he'd been in not a moment before, with the exception of the two-metre steep hill he'd just fallen down.

The pain in his head came to his attention, having being previously hidden by his other injuries, as he hopped over to a tree not a few metres away, resting his forearm on the tree as he attempted to tear off a large branch of the tree, aggravating the scratches and cuts on his right hand. He hacked at it the rock from previous moments, alternating between using that and attempting to tear it off with his hand.

After a few minutes struggle, in which numerous times he'd considered defeat, the branch fell free from the tree, falling at his feet. He removed the final strip of vest from his pocket, wrapping it around the palm of his hand, before picking up the branch.

He took a few steps to the left, testing the branches use as a makeshift cane. Satisfied, he stopped and glanced around, unsure of which direction to move in, the surrounding trees hiding the sky from view. Eventually, he elected to move in the same direction he'd been moving before his fall, turning further to his left and hobbling forward.  
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"As much as I hate to admit it-" Prentiss started, cutting her thought short at the looks she received.

"She's right though. This profile fits Reid," Rossi said, continuing her line of thought. "This UnSub is smart, organised."

"Doesn't mean it's Reid," Morgan snapped, glaring at Rossi. His gaze softened slightly. "Sorry," Rossi shrugged, indifferent. "He'll call, let us know what's happening."

"No he won't," Rossi said, earning another look from Morgan. "He knows we'll trace the call to find him and Strauss will find out some way."

"No she won't," Garcia said quietly. "I won't tell her." She said, raising her voice slightly.

"Yes you will," Rossi said. "If she threatens us, our jobs. If she threatens to throw us in jail with obstruction of justice and obstruction of a federal investigation, you'll tell her. We can't tell Reid if we've lost our jobs or we're in jail. He won't call."  
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Reid knew which direction- roughly- he had to go in. He knew the place he sought was a ten minute drive from where he'd been, Gideon's cabin. He also knew that before he'd fallen, he'd been running for roughly two and a half minutes. As the pain in his ankle and hands died down to a dull ache, he became aware of the fact he was exhausted from being continuously being on the move, as well as the fact that his calves and thighs were aching for the very same reason.

He knew he couldn't stop and rest. He'd already wasted too much time by tending to his ankle, but that had been necessary if he wanted to keep moving, especially without causing himself further injury. He knew he had only a short time to get there but he didn't know how much further there was, how long he'd been stumbling on for or indeed how much longer it would take.

He guessed from the moon's position in the sky that it was around nine o'clock. He didn't want to be out here any longer than necessary, given the fact it was quickly getting cold and because he didn't want to be wandering around while the FBI was after him.

It felt weird that his colleagues, people he used to work with everyday, were now chasing _him_, were now consumed with capturing _him _and making sure _he _was put away. It gave him an uneasy feeling in his stomach, knowing that something small could turn his friends and colleagues against him. He knew, deep down, that this wasn't such a small thing, that being accused of being a serial murderer, was not small thing, but it still hurt him that they obviously thought so little of him that he was now only a target, all thoughts of him being an ally, a friend, out of mind.

What hurt him the most though, was the fact that to a somewhat degree, they were right. He'd never murdered anyone, never would, and he wouldn't intentionally kill anyone in anything other than self-defence. But they were right in the fact that he was no longer an ally. No longer after this incident could he be their friend, their colleague. He didn't think he held it within himself to maintain friendship with them after the incident back there, the incident that had made him start running in the first place.

He realised he'd unconsciously picked up his pace, and he slowed slightly. He decided to rest for a second, decided to get his breath back. He leant against a nearby tree, taking deep breathes as he tried to ignore the pain shooting his leg and the aches in his legs and arms.

He had no idea why he'd gone to Gideon's cabin that night, and now he wished he hadn't. In hindsight it probably wasn't the best idea, though when he'd come up with the idea, he hadn't been wanted for the murder of thirteen women.

No, when he'd come up with the idea, it seemed like a good idea. The last case had been particularly stressful- over forty women murdered in several southern counties- and Hotch had ordered a mandatory free weekend. His mind briefly wandered to the girl whom had lost her best friend and he hoped she wouldn't find out about this, wouldn't feel sick at the thought of being comforted by an alleged serial murderer.

He knew it wasn't just allegations though. He knew there was evidence of some sort, otherwise the FBI and SWAT team wouldn't have been so forceful, wouldn't have made such a big deal. But he hoped it wasn't enough evidence that his team had resigned at trying to help him, that they were still helping him.

He marvelled at how much this was like The Fisher King. Though there weren't any sick games this time around, it still involved the BAU's rare vacations being cut sort by allegations of a team member being a murderer. Though this time it was much more serious, Elle having only been a suspect of the murder of one man. He hoped this case wouldn't end the same way, that this wouldn't result in anyone suffering post traumatic stress disorder. And he certainly hoped it wouldn't result in a member of the team leaving, albeit it was more than likely that he would be the one to leave. He just didn't know how he could return after this, and briefly wondered how Morgan had indeed managed to return after Chicago.

He pushed himself off the tree gingerly and started walking. He started hobbling again, making sure to keep a good pace. He kept his eyes focused on the ground below him, though he strained his ears for any abnormal sounds. He was about to pass in a clearing when he saw it. Light. More importantly, artificial light. His eyes searched the surrounding area and found where it was coming from, about forty or so metres diagonally left from where he was. A small hut, semi-visible through the trees, light streaming into the clearing.

He'd found it.  
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Garcia prided herself in always being upbeat, always optimistic, but it was moments like these, sniffling alone in her office, that she wished she didn't have such a dangerous job. Sometimes, she wished she hadn't picked such a dangerous job, but something simple, something dull. Although she loved putting the bad guys away, it was moments like these, her friend in danger and on the run, that she wished the FBI had never recruited her.

Every time the BAU went somewhere, every time she wasn't in constant contact with them, she worried. She worried like hell. But she surrounded herself with happy things, cheerful things. She told herself, over and over, that things would be okay. She just had to believe, that was all.

So she was very surprised- happy surprised- that while she was telling herself this, her computers- her much need haven- decided to help her out, giving her the best news she could hope for. For a second she stared at the screen, blinking. Then she abruptly stood, hurrying out of her office.

She knew people were glancing at her as she walked past, wondering why she'd failed to answer their greetings, but all she had on her mind was finding her friends and sharing the news. She was happy again, sniffling alone in her office a distant memory. She stepped in the elevator and rocked back and forth on her heels- much more difficult in high heels- waiting impatiently. Finally the elevator pinged and the doors opened and she stepped out.

She gasped as a familiar, hated sound filled her ears and she covered her ears as she scrambled to the ground, gunshots peppering the doors to the elevator as they shut. Before she closed her eyes in fear and hit the ground though, her happy feeling disappeared, the terror filling her heart once more as she saw her team at the entrance, whatever conversation they'd been having far from their minds as they hit the floor.

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_"What matters is not the idea a man holds, but the depth at which he holds it,"_ ~Ezra Pound

**Muhahahahahahaha! I feel so evil! Hope you enjoy it, and I hope you vote for it in the-vampire-act's contest! **


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